Kelp and Blood
by SpeedyBryant
Summary: Percy, Clarisse, and the rest of the gang enter the Hunger Games.


It was a cold night in District Two. It didn't ever snow much, but now, in the darkness of the dawn, it felt like the icy powder should have been piling on every rooftop within Two's boundaries. Mark was cutting logs on the other side of the room, his thick sheet wadded below his neck and his low breaths whisking sandy streaks of blonde over his freckled nose. I thanked no-one in particular when I felt calf-high sweatpants heating my legs as I pushed my blanket down to my ankles. The air was still frigid, but it was bearable. By eleven, it would heat up again, and no-one would have to suffer through a cold hour in Two's crowded square.

The tile brought an unwelcome coldness to my feet as I swung them over the mattress. A headache brewed in my conscious, and the springs creaked beneath me as I made my way toward the light that crept through the gap in the bedroom door. Sherman took a turn on the top bunk, where he would sleep above me and toss around all through the night. I huffed a sigh, and pulled my fingers from the doorknob. It brought a sense of smugness to adjust his alarm clock an hour early.

I didn't waste any time making my way over the tile floor with bare feet into the kitchen. My father shook a skillet over a heated stove-top, diced onions and peppers tossing over the heated edges with every slosh in the pan. He looked up from the frying pan with light grey eyes. "You want one egg or two?" He muttered. His face was clear of wispy fur. It was the first time he'd shaved in weeks.

I snorted at him and curved my lips into coy smile. "I'll take three."

"Three." Aren shook his head, an incredulous look made of his face.

I took an apple from a steel bowl on the kitchen table and took a mouth-filling bite. "What?" I asked, my arms drawn wide, a ruby apple in hand. A bead of the cool juice dribbled down my chin, and I wiped at it with a naked arm as I chewed the crunchy bite. "It's a big day, y'know? Places t'go, people t'meet." I pushed down the bite with a hard swallow. "Big day."

Aren opened a cardboard box, a box in which I presumed twelve eggs were nuzzled in two cold rows. "That's damn-near half the box."

My smile faded in the moment, and I felt my voice fall in a mumble. "A quarter."

Aren took a breath to speak, but I cut him off and started storming into the bathroom, angrily pulling a robe onto my shoulders from the hallway closet. The bathroom light turned on with a click, and the door was only cracked, letting the yellow beams creep onto the dark tile floor. "We're just like those District Twelve swine. We can swing a sword, but we're no different."

There was a pregnant pause that filled the air. In the kitchen, Aren pounded an egg on the skillet, the gelatinous gunk hissing as it flooded the pan. He had to think of his response, something that wouldn't make his daughter attempt to murder him through the week. "Well," he finally said, "at least we're not those District One weirdos with their frilly suits and their spear-bejeweling products."

I burst out of the kitchen and into the empty bathroom, the doorknob making a small dent in the drywall behind it. My teeth were grit tightly; I groaned and dragged a hairbrush roughly through my dark curls. "Dear lord, I can't freaking stand those perfect little rats with all their sparkles and jewelry. Hell, I -"

From somewhere in the living room, a door creaked on its hinges. The pat of naked feet slapping against tile was a sound that came to me with a profound familiarity. Sherman. Better close the door. "You sound jealous, Clarisse. You jealous?" Dammit, I was too late.

"Of those idiots?" I asked him. The thought was so ridiculous that when I squeezed the tube of toothpaste, I squeezed it too hard and a bit of it slapped onto the counter. "_No._" My toothbrush drew blood when I dragged it too hard over my gums.

The foam I spat was red in color.

"Ooh, gettin' dolled up, are you, 'Risse?" Sherman smirked through a crack in my bathroom door. I rolled my eyes at him. Fuckin' retard.

"Gonna do somethin' big today?"

"Hell yeah," I told him. My gums hurt and I washed my mouth with lukewarm water. The water was always lukewarm, no matter the weather. Nevertheless, the pain faded quickly.

I worked into the diningroom and Mark was in my spot at the kitchen table, swinging his stupid-ass feet back and forth and back again like some pansy. I plopped beside him. Not in the mood. Not today, when I only got two eggs, both of them burnt to hell. Would I volunteer? This fork was rusty. Dad could never cook.

My brother Mark was still eleven. I had a feeling he'd be just as annoying when he grew older, and the thought was funny to me 'cause no-one would like him. Mark opened his stupid mouth. "Something big, 'Risse? Like blowing a gumball?" He taunted

I kicked him under the table and Aren smashed down on his chair, making the wood creak loudly beneath him. He grunted something about Mark shutting up and eating his goddamned food, and I smirked when my little half-brother stuck out his tongue. "It's not like you're gonna volunteer," Mark grumbled. And then I felt my eyes move back to my plate and I was silent.

I hadn't told anyone that I probably would. And If they had asked, I would have lied immediately.

But I did volunteer that day. The weather didn't get warmer, and when my family hugged me, I couldn't play it off. Mark started crying. Aren was proud. Sherman told me that maybe I had had something big planned after all.

And then I grinned at them, hugging myself in my older brother's ugly tan sweater. Sherman waved and Aren smiled. Mark looked about torn to pieces and I felt for him a little. My partner, Jason Grace and I were pushed onto the train after our mentor's wheelchair was lifted onto it. His name was Chiron, and I remembered his games vividly. The way he stomped that Four boy's face in and teared up afterwards. He was an okay guy.

As we sat to watch the reapings, I found my mind wandering, which it never usually did at all. I thought of my spears in training; the stupid self-loving smirk Sherman always gave that made me hate him little by little.

But one thing occured to me that would follow me into the night and all through the arena's violent and scary depths. The way Mark's eyes watered when he seen for me, after what I'd done.


End file.
